


Surely you Can't be Serious

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, Romance, Second War with Voldemort, The Quidditch Pitch: More Than Two, Threesome, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-06
Updated: 2008-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-27 16:16:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10812504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Angelina has never had much luck with the opposite sex.  Her luck is about to changeWarning:See Pairing- Slightly incestous, though the twins don't touch.





	Surely you Can't be Serious

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** **Written for** [](http://community.livejournal.com/hp_springsmut/profile)[](http://community.livejournal.com/hp_springsmut/)**hp_springsmut**

  
Author's notes: Many thanks to Pan for the brit-pick and Jen for the beta.  


* * *

  
  


It certainly wasn’t the night I expected to have when the evening got started. I’d been on a date; Bryan was his name. Actually, he was sort of my boyfriend, though I’ll admit now he was a bit of a tosser. Well, more than that, he was a complete arse. But he was good-looking, had a measure of charm, and I was human, after all.   
  
The trouble was that he didn’t treat me all that well, now that I look back on it. I was never any good at relationships. I understood blokes well enough when I played with them or hung about a common room, but when it came to sex and romance, I was always at sixes and sevens.   
  
I knew my worth on the pitch, I knew I was a good friend; I just didn’t think I had a lot to offer as a woman. I got clumsy and flustered and really not at all like myself.  
  
And Bryan was the type to take full advantage of those insecurities, constantly belittling me in sly ways, reminding me how lucky I was to have him.  
  
I look back now and I’m appalled at what I put up with. And no—before you ask—he never hit me. That I could have dealt with. The first time he ever tried to lay a hand on me—well, he wouldn’t have walked away, that’s for sure.  
  
He was subtler than that—chipping away slowly at my self-esteem until I lost any sort of power I might have held in the relationship.  
  
So, yeah, bit of a jerk. And I’d had a crap day on the pitch, so I was in a mood anyway. I just wanted to go home and collapse into bed (I wasn’t foolish enough to wish he’d bring me dinner and rub my feet or anything like that.) Instead, he talked me into a night at a Knockturn Alley dance club. There we were, with all his friends, and he was telling an endless story designed to make everyone listening praise his brilliance. I followed his cues at the end, well used to this little game, but apparently not with enough enthusiasm. It went downhill from there. He kept dropping little cutting remarks, and after an hour of it, with aching muscles and sore feet and a wounded ego, I’d had enough. I told him I was tired and ready to go home.   
  
Rather than let me go, he followed me out the door and really started to lay into me, calling me selfish and useless and—well, I don’t know what else he was going to say because he stopped his tirade at his first glimpse of a livid Fred Weasley and a menacing George.  
  
Fred very sweetly asked him to repeat what he said, a wand in one hand and the other clenched into a white-knuckled fist. My first impulse was to come between them, to protect my boyfriend from his own stupidity and protect Fred and George from involvement in a problem that was all mine.   
  
I don’t know what did it—maybe it was the genuine concern in Fred and George’s eyes or the arrogance in Bryan’s—but suddenly I felt ashamed of myself. Why had I put up with it so long? I was better than this, damn it!  
  
Turning to my soon-to-be-ex, I swear I felt some of Fred and George’s strength flowing through me. I told Bryan to get the fuck out of my life. It felt brilliant to say it, too—let me tell you. The look on his face was priceless. He actually sputtered for a moment, then he made the utterly stupid decision to take his annoyance out on the nearest twin (George, as it happened) before he walked away, clipping his cheek and taking out a nice chunk of skin with his stupid, poncy signet ring.  
  
Fred knocked him out cold before the bouncer of the club could stop him (or possibly help him, it could have gone either way.) He looked good laid out like that—so good that I had to restrain myself from kicking him myself for good measure.  
  
But the best part of all was what happened immediately afterward, when Fred and George came to me as a unit, my beautiful Beaters, protecting me, fussing over me. Hell, I was nearly as tall as either of them, even as wide, at least in some places, and I was strong enough to make a good showing against them in a wrestling match, but between them, I felt cared for, appreciated, maybe even cherished.  
  
I wanted to go home straightaway, but they were determined to cheer me up so we went back inside, where a few drinks loosened my tongue. I wound up pouring out the entire sordid tale. I had trouble looking them in the eyes, but I didn’t miss the looks that passed between them, and though they seemed sympathetic, I felt certain they would think less of me when it was over.  
  
“Why did you put up with it for so long?" Fred asked.

I hung my head. “I’ve just—had rotten luck with men, I suppose. Not all that fanciable, if I’m going to be perfectly honest.”  
  
They exchanged a look again, one of those ones that made me wonder if they were capable of some sort of telepathy.  
  
“Well, that stings a bit, love,” Fred said, leaning closer and grinning. “Considering that I was your first date and all…”  
  
I nudged him with my shoulder, rolling my eyes a bit. “Yeah, but that didn’t count, did it? We’re mates, right?”   
  
Fred clutched his chest, sighing dramatically, forcing me to nudge him again, hard enough to hurt.  
  
George was leaning back and watching us with a wry smile on his face. “And I don’t suppose that being your first kiss counts for much, either,” he said quietly, making me sputter a bit, heat suffusing my cheeks.   
  
“You _promised,_ George! You said we’d take it to the grave!”  
  
“Fred doesn’t count,” was George’s reply. “I couldn’t keep a secret from him if I tried.”  
  
I’d always suspected it, of course, so I wasn’t really mad. Not all that embarrassed anymore, either. I loved the fact that they’d both been there as I was trying to understand how things between boys and girls worked. I just wish I’d done a better job of working it all out. At any rate, the thing about both situations was that with the twins, everything had always been easy. They weren’t boys as much as they were _my_ boys, and they were safe havens for things like practising kissing and finding dance partners. I didn’t have to impress them—in fact sometimes I wondered if they were even aware I was a girl.  
  
They flirted outrageously, of course, but apart from the aforementioned incidents, neither had ever crossed a line that had me taking them seriously. Still, I came away from every encounter with one or both of them feeling pretty damn good about myself.   
  
“All right, then, I take it back. You two are the only luck I’ve had with men, is that better? But you don’t really count, do you? As far as you’re concerned, I might as well be a bloke. Which is most of my problem, isn’t it?”  
  
“What’s your problem?” Fred asked. “That we don’t count, or that we consider you a bloke?”  
  
“Because we _don’t,”_ George added. “Far from it.”  
  
I laughed nervously because laughter seemed the only safe reaction, particularly when George’s eyes had gone all dark and unreadable and Fred’s grin had an unfamiliar quality to it.   
  
“Well, whatever,” I said. “You both are good for my ego, and lord knows I needed it tonight.”  
  
I might have been hoping we’d go back to the normal way we related to each other, as it was safe and familiar and really quite precious to me. I didn’t quite know what to do with the way they were suddenly making me feel, and wondered if it was all on my end.  
  
I sipped my drink and caught another intriguing look that passed between them when suddenly George stood up and held out his hand. I took it automatically, but I wondered for an insane moment just what I was agreeing to.  
  
Apparently, it was a dance, because he led me out onto the middle of the floor and pulled me close. The differences between this dance and the ones his brother and I had shared at the Yule Ball were significant. Those had been an expression of joy and exuberance and this one was clearly just an excuse to put our bodies in maximum contact with each other.   
  
“Since I never got to dance with you back then, it seems only fair that I get a chance,” he said, and his mouth was so close to my ear that I shivered.  
  
Laughing nervously again, I said the first thing that came to my mind, though I instantly regretted it. “Does that mean I have to practise kissing with Fred—in the interest of fairness?”  
  
George’s smile was enigmatic. _“Have_ to? No, you don’t have to, but it _does_ seem fair,” he said, and pulled me even closer.  
  
How did one respond to something so outrageous, anyway? His hand went down my spine, finally resting on top of my bum, and I allowed myself to just follow his lead, enjoying the warmth of his body and the moment for a bit.   
  
The song changed and suddenly, I was being handed to Fred. I turned to him, falling into step with him, though a slightly different rhythm than the one I shared with his brother. I expected George to leave, but he danced just apart from us, watching us intently. He wasn’t even trying to pretend he was dancing with the crowd in general the way that partnerless girls tended to do. There was no doubt he was with us.  
  
At some point, George moved in behind me and Fred pulled me even closer and I was beginning to wonder if the people around thought I was a total slag or the luckiest woman on earth. I certainly wasn’t taking them seriously; it was _inconceivable_ that they were trying to seduce me in tandem. Surely they were just being outrageous, (as usual) building up my bruised ego in the process?   
  
Then Fred kissed me on the lips, too deeply to be considered a friendly peck and just brief enough to leave me wanting more. He looked over at George, grinning. Suddenly I felt George’s warm breath against my ear and felt his hand slip between me and Fred to cover my stomach, which was flopping around like a flounder on the deck of a boat.  
  
“You’re mad,” I whispered, and Fred grinned smugly and George laughed against my ear. “The pair of you.”  
  
“You’ve no idea,” Fred said.   
  
“But we could show you,” George added and there was a note in his voice that sent all the blood in my body south. What else could I do but giggle somewhat hysterically? Yeah, I had an idea what they were getting at, but I was having more than a bit of trouble believing them.  
  
I had been focusing on Fred’s eyes, though, when George stuck his tongue in my ear, and everything became crystal clear. What was I going to do, turn them down? I’d begun the evening feeling undesirable and unloved. All of a sudden the two boys who I’d adored since I was twelve (generally having crushes on one or the other and sometimes both) were asking me to…well, take them home, maybe, and beyond that I couldn’t even begin to imagine.  
  
Well, I could imagine, actually—what girl in my year hadn’t, at one time or another, and possibly all the other classes and undoubtedly, half the staff? Was it possible, though?  
  
My throat was dry as I tried to speak again. “I...uh… there’s a very good chance that Bryan went back to my place.”  
  
Fred’s grin at this point was absolutely dazzling and I swear I could feel George smiling against my ear as the hand on my stomach tightened perceptibly.   
  
Maybe I hoped they’d show a little discretion at this point—one leading me out and the other following after a suitable delay, but they’d never known the meaning of the word, had they?  
  
And maybe they were trying to make a point of sorts. Hadn’t I complained earlier about my apparent undesirability? Being walked out of a crowded club in the company of the ‘Weasley Twins’ would effectively announce to the world that my luck was about to change, right? (Or possibly make others think that I’d been holding out on everybody all along.) There was no way this wasn’t getting back to some of my friends, and certainly Bryan would hear about it, which wouldn’t be a bad thing. I could only pray it wouldn’t reach my poor mother’s ears.  
  
At any rate, I was moving as if underwater, being propelled by the force of their mutual will, wondering when I was going to wake up or when they would finally call the whole joke off.  
  
They didn’t say anything as we walked toward their shop, but I couldn’t help but thrill a bit as they moved closer during the dodgier parts of the Alley. I’d never been the damsel in distress type—in fact, I was big enough to where any would-be attacker would have had to be either Hagrid-sized or highly stupid to want to take me on. Still, knowing that they felt protective of me made me feel almost girly. Hard to imagine, but it was true.  
  
The closer we got to their flat, the more nervous I grew, dreading the awkward moment of arrival, wondering what I would say.   
  
I needn’t have worried. As Fred went to light the candles, George once again moved in behind me, his arms around my waist and his mouth on my throat. I’d never see this side of him before—it was nothing like those fumbly, giggly kisses we’d shared all those years before. He knew just what to do to make me weak at the knees. He was so gentle and yet so skilled—his lips feather light on my neck, his broad hands spanning my stomach, his tongue tracing the cords of my neck.   
  
Fred returned and winked at us, though I don’t know if it was directed more at his brother or me. He handed me a glass of whiskey and I took it without a thought, grateful for something to do with my hands.   
  
I took a sip and felt warmth spreading through my veins, though I wasn’t sure if it was due to the alcohol or the fact that one of George’s hands was creeping up my midriff, his thumb moving back and forth across the bottom of my breast. Fred was watching the progress of his brother’s hand intently, which meant that his eyes were pretty much on my tits, and judging by the look on his face, he liked what he was seeing.  
  
We were still standing in the middle of their sitting room, which suddenly struck me as odd. I wanted to say something, wanted the words in the air, for one of us to acknowledge what was happening here or what was going to happen here. On the other hand, I was afraid to interrupt the spell I seemed to be under.   
  
Fred seemed to be waiting for me to speak, and when I didn’t, he leaned over and kissed me, pushing me back into his brother in the process. I wrapped my arms around him, burying my face in his neck when it was over, wondering what they were thinking as they faced each other, me between them. “I think she’s nervous,” Fred said, and George replied, “Understandable; aren’t you?”  
  
Fred snickered a bit, stroking my hair. “Of course. How often do you get the chance to see if the fantasy lives up to the reality? How many times did we wonder what it’d be like, d’you think?”  
  
I lifted my head then, looking at Fred incredulously. “You _what?”_  
  
“Did you think this was a lark?” George murmured.  
  
“I did, a bit,” I said, leaning back to give him better access to my neck, which he’d begun nibbling at. “Or I wondered if maybe you made a habit of trolling for depressed witches around Knockturn Alley, seducing them until they didn’t know which way was up.   
  
George laughed against my ear and Fred took advantage of my position to kiss just under my jaw. “Just you,” he said. _“Always_ you—top of the list when we’d talk about girls up in the dorm. Lee would be so jealous if he knew.” That got another laugh from George, whose hand was now covering my breast, kneading gently.  
  
“You’re joking,” I said, and it came out sounding a bit like a moan.  
  
“Dead serious,” Fred said, and George added, “Whatever you want, however you want. We want to make you feel good.”  
  
Fred laughed. “Not that we don’t have ideas of our own, mind you. Do you trust us? “  
  
 _With my life,_ I thought, but could only nod as Fred stepped even closer, his thigh making its way between mine, leaving me with no doubt whatsoever that he was serious. George shifted, too, his cock pressing against my arse and his free hand moving down my stomach.  
  
“The sofa?” Fred said, and George pulled away in response, leaving me suddenly cold. It was odd how right it had seemed to have them there, overwhelming me  
  
Fred took my hand and led me there, taking the hardly touched glass and setting it on the side table. I suppose I was grateful that they didn’t lead me to the bedroom straightaway, though there was no way I was backing out now.  
  
George held out a welcoming arm for me, and I was pleased to see the eagerness on his face, considering I’d been looking at Fred most of the time. I leaned against him as I had a hundred times before in the common room, only this time was quite a bit different, because he was touching me in places he never would have dared to back then. I felt the sofa shift as Fred sat on the other side of me, but I’d had my eyes closed at the time, kissing George for the first time as an adult, knowing full well that his brother was playing the voyeur only a few inches away, his hand covering my knee.  
  
When George broke away from me, Fred pulled me close, determined to get some face time with me. Maybe it was because George was the shyer of the two, or maybe he wanted to make up for all the kissing George and I had years before. At any rate Fred was giving me the sort of kisses that you saw in films, the ones that real life never quite managed to live up to, or maybe the experience was heightened by the fact that George, too was kissing me, that his hands were exploring my body, toying with the buttons of my blouse and stroking my thigh through the skirt that I hated but Bryan had insisted on.   
  
My tongue was tangled with Fred’s, his hands were buried in my hair and my hands were clutching at his collar as George began to slowly ease my skirt up over my knees and beyond. It was startling at first and I closed my legs in embarrassment. But I was no match for those magical hands of his. And in spite of the fact that I’d always thought my legs were too thick, he managed to make me feel a flush of pride over the shape of them by the hungry look in his eyes and the gentle touch of his fingers.   
  
By the time that Fred let me get in a good breath, my skirt was bunched up around my waist, and George’s fingers were tracing the elastic of my knickers, easing open my legs for better access. I tried not to think about how I must have looked right then, but at one point, they both pulled away, looked me over, and exchanged a look that could only be called gleeful.  
  
George sank to the floor between my legs, bending forward to kiss the inside of my thighs, and I had to pull away from Fred to look down at him. Damn, he was gorgeous, especially in the candlelight. Fred began unbuttoning my blouse as George began running his hands up and around my hips, and he hooked his fingers into the side of my knickers, sliding them down just as Fred got the last button undone and parted my blouse.  
  
Damn,” Fred breathed, just as George muttered, “Fuck,’ under his breath. Both of them were eyeing me ravenously and I felt utterly exposed.   
  
“You two— _overdressed,”_ I managed, and they looked at each other and grinned, stripping with a complete lack of hesitation. I didn’t know where to look first, actually. And yes, they were very much alike, right down to their bits, and both beautiful enough to take my breath away.  
  
I shrugged out of my blouse and Fred went to work on my bra, and I didn’t miss the look they gave each other once they got to really look at my tits either. It certainly stopped George’s finger from venturing inside me as had seemed imminent.   
  
Maybe I should have expected it, but is there any way to describe the way that it feels to have two people lavishing attention on your nipples? I’d never been all that much into it before, my breasts had just seemed something to get in the way when I was playing, but from the first moment I felt Fred’s (and then George’s) lips tugging at that sensitive flesh, I thanked whatever god was listening that I was a woman.  
  
Eventually, Fred’s attention went back to kissing me and George’s to diddling me. (What? Have you got a better word for it?)  
  
Of course, I’d always enjoyed being touched that way. Who doesn’t, I ask you? So why should George’s fingers have felt so different from all that had come before? Was it some special talent he possessed, or was it the comfort that I felt with him, or was it the _combination_ of his fingers playing me like an instrument while Fred’s hands were squeezing my breasts, added to Fred’s kisses along my neck and George’s along my thigh?  
  
I felt…well; I certainly didn’t feel anything like the clumsy, hopeless girl I’d seen in the mirror as I dressed that night.   
  
And then George displayed yet another skill as he blew softly against my more personal parts, his tongue lapping at the soft skin at the top of my thigh, darting forward to run over my folds, licking at the bundle of nerves no one had quite figured out what to do with, other than myself.   
  
I moaned into Fred’s mouth, lifting my hips slightly to encourage George to stop teasing me and bloody well do something. Fred apparently liked the sound because he pulled away, taking his cock in his hand and stroking it. Bloody hell, it was the hottest thing I’d ever seen in my life—especially when I considered what they’d said before about fantasizing when they were younger. What was I going to do but lean over and take his cock in my mouth? I’d been wanting to for years, hadn’t I? I’d actually got quite proficient at it, although Bryan, (if asked) would have conceded that I was merely tolerable. But Fred seemed fairly impressed—he’d turned to give me better access and his hand was wrapped around my head and he was apparently just managing to hold himself back from thrusting into my mouth and gagging me.  
  
At this point, George was sucking my clit in earnest, just enough to leave me wanting more but not quite enough to finish me off. I was watching him past his brother---I liked the way they liked to watch each other, but I suspected there were few people who would understand it without being a disgusted. To my way of thinking, without access to a Muggle invention such as a camcorder, this was the nearest way that one of them could actually watch himself fucking someone. Pictures would do, but there were limits to how much action they could contain. Come to think of it, a camera wasn’t a bad idea for next time. Not that there would necessarily be a next time.  
  
Right?  
  
And who the hell was I turning into all of a sudden?  
  
I was twisted into an uncomfortable position at this point, and apparently they noticed it. Fred pulled out of my mouth with a loud pop and George moved to the floor, taking my hand and tugging me toward him. George kissed me, completely unperturbed by where my mouth had just been, and laid me onto my back. I expected him to kiss his way back down my body, but he moved his torso between my legs, sliding his crotch back and forth over my slick folds, his cock remaining in near constant contact with my clit. I wrapped my legs around him, one of my hands clutching at his arse as I reached again for his brother, who moved back into position into my mouth.  
  
When George finally entered me, I whimpered around Fred’s cock, and both of them said, “Fuck,” at the same time.  
  
“I think she likes it,” George said, sliding slowly in and out of me and making me moan and writhe. Fred groaned in response, his hand shaking a bit as his fingers tangled in my braids.  
  
“Not gonna last,” Fred admitted, adding, “She’s fucking brilliant at this.”   
  
I smiled around Fred’s cock, though whatever skill I’d learned was quickly disappearing; distracted as I was by the way that George felt inside me. When he abruptly pulled out, I moaned in protest at the loss, especially when Fred pulled away too, but I figured they’d decided to switch positions without consulting me. Not that I minded.  
  
Sure enough, Fred lay on his back and pulled me on top of him, leaving George to sit back and watch for a bit, stroking himself. I don’t know—something about the fact that I was performing for him in a way got to me, and the fact that I could control the pace made it all that much better. Soaking wet, I took Fred’s cock in my hand and slowly sank down onto it, leaving him swearing under his breath, gripping my arse with both hands. I began to move, slowly at first and then in a bit of a frenzy, feeling graceful and powerful, and sexy as hell. George offered up a stream of encouragement, telling me how beautiful I was, asking Fred how it felt—stroking his cock (which was still glistening from my juices) the entire time. Eventually, I suppose, he’d had enough of being an inactive participant because I felt his lips on my shoulder. I looked down to see what Fred thought of this change of events and he seemed pleased enough. I felt the warmth of George’s chest against my back and his cock pressed insistently against my arse and then his finger, slick and wet, tracing my opening.   
  
No, not _that_ one— _that_ one was fairly well filled by Fred. _The other one._ The one Brian used to talk me into every now and again (though I’d never seen the point, other than causing me pain and embarrassment.)   
  
So why did George’s finger feel so bloody good? And he couldn’t possibly have been thinking what I thought he was thinking, could he?   
  
Apparently, he was, I thought, as a second finger joined the first and I felt his lips murmuring against my ear, soothing me, encouraging me to relax, not to fight it, that they wanted to share me, that they’d pictured this for years, that it was going to feel so bloody good.  
  
I had stilled over Fred at this point; I looked at him, and he smiled, and the hands that were on my hips began stroking my breasts and belly, soothing me and then finally stroking my aching clit to the point where I would have agreed to anything.   
  
George’s fingers slid out of me and I mourned the loss, pushing back against him, trying not to look as he did something with his wand, something which his made his fingers even more slick and cool, something which made a squelching sound as he stroked his cock and allowed him to slide with ease over the cleft of my arse, finally pressing into me ever so slowly.  
  
“All right?” Fred asked, and I realized that I’d had my eyes closed tightly, just allowing my body to get used to the sensations.   
  
“Yeah, I said, and I was surprised that I actually meant it. I watched Fred’s eyes dart from me to his brother and back again, and upon hearing George’s groan as he was finally sheathed within me he grinned maniacally. It occurred to me that he must have felt the change too, that they were feeling each other through me. I laughed softly, shifting experimentally and making them both swear.   
  
Damn, _this_ was power—power and vulnerability at the same time. I thought maybe I could get used to this—that is if I didn’t pass out from the overwhelming sensations.  
  
And that was even _before_ they started to move. Once they did, I found myself completely surrendering, because at this point there wasn’t much I could do other than moan. It hurt like hell, but felt so bloody good at the same time. They were _everywhere_ \--around me and within me—hands and lips and tongues and cocks, bright brown eyes and freckles and tufts of ginger hair and warm, pale skin.   
  
Then there was the beautiful expression on Fred’s face as he completely lost all control and the hoarse sound of George’s shout against my ear as he followed hardly a second later—and then there was me—at this point, I’d come so many times I didn’t know where one orgasm ended and another began. I’d never felt so weak and shaky and satisfied and vulnerable after sex—but it didn’t matter, because they were still there, surrounding me, soothing me, protecting me and finally relaxing against me.   
  
I fell asleep in the circle of their arms.   
  
Maybe I ought to have been embarrassed or ashamed. I ought to have been terrified we’d ruined everything we’d built over the years by doing something so unconventional and outrageous—that we’d never be able to look at each other in the face again. But you know what? I didn’t care. The way I saw it, once you’d had a night like that, you were pretty much set for life. Anything else was icing on the cake.


End file.
